


bond-age

by levlinwinlaer



Category: Portrait de la jeune fille en feu | Portrait of a Lady on Fire (2019)
Genre: F/F, i have never seen a bond film nor will i, nary a hint of research in this one, the height of self-indulgence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-05
Updated: 2020-10-17
Packaged: 2021-03-06 22:01:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,675
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26296087
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/levlinwinlaer/pseuds/levlinwinlaer
Summary: They didn’t talk about it any more after that. If anybody thought Héloïse was capable of asking 028 ‘were you just touching yourself and maybe thinking about me’, they were an idiot. So she couldn’t really be sure.But she could think about it.And she did.A lot.
Relationships: Héloïse/Marianne (Portrait of a Lady on Fire)
Comments: 88
Kudos: 272





	1. seven

I

It had been a long time coming, Héloïse thought. And immediately felt sort of guilty. But not really.

In her defence, he had been the one to climb up the side of a skyscraper. One of the glassy ones. In Dubai, no less. Headquarters had ripped her to pieces over it but after playing back the tape he could give her nothing more than a weary look and a mandatory month of therapy.

She went.

To the first day. Then she made the therapist cry, and after that there was no more talk of childhoods.

The peace lasted approximately thirty-four hours. Héloïse spent them dozing on the tiny bed in the lab, playing chess against Houdini, and figuring out the optimal temperature for storing white chocolate. She had nearly finished installing thermal controls into one of her desk drawers by the time there was a knock on the Q-Lab door.

“What?”

Headquarters came in, looking pasty and tired as ever. He was followed shortly thereafter by an agent. You could tell she was an agent because of the smell of smoke and bad decisions, and also because there was a gun strapped to her thigh. Héloïse recognised her from the cafeteria (mostly at 1 in the morning, which was when Héloïse made the vast majority of her trips to the cafeteria). She was one of the nice ones. Or nice to other people, at least.

“Ugh,” said Héloïse.

“I’ll leave you two to get set up,” Headquarters chirped, and left.

"Agent-“

She was rounding Héloïse’s station, approaching in easy graceful steps. In four-inch heels, no less. Héloïse had time only to marvel at her ability to balance before her chair was being spun around and the agent was crouching down in front of her. She reached on instinct for the gun she kept below her station but the agent was faster.

“Come on,” she said, and in an instant the gun was out of reach. “Let’s be friendly, now.”

Héloïse would admit to a flutter. Or a jolt, maybe, somewhere in a long-neglected region. Then she gathered herself in the name of lab safety and said, “Do you know the kind of technology I keep here?”

“I’m familiar.”

“Then you should know it’ll take your head off.”

“That’d be a shame,” the agent said, in a friendly tone. “Let me introduce myself. I’m-“

“Oh-two-eight. I know.”

The agent blinked. Then smiled. Before she could say anything Héloïse said, “I memorised all the agent lists.”

“Oh.” Her smile dropped a little. “Nice to meet you, quartermaster.”

And that was about how it started.

II

028 was remarkably cheerful for an agent. Héloïse had worked at the DGSE for eight years, six of which had been spent in a shitty lab job, and she had become very well-acquainted with the sick creatures who roamed around ruining all of her painstakingly forged state-of-the-art technology. They all needed seventy years’ worth of counselling and would almost certainly never get it. But 028 seemed like a normal person.

Not that Héloïse was the best judge of that.

In any case she was hot and acted well-adjusted and could make conversation with just about anyone, which was more than Héloïse could say for anyone else on the seventh floor of the DGSE. She came into Q-Lab any time she was in town, usually just to say hello. She complained about mission briefings and said things that could be considered innuendos and asked very specific questions about Héloïse’s engineering. And she brought back most of the Q-Lab prototypes in one piece. Which was rare indeed.

Héloïse liked her. That was rare, too.

III

She was also a flirt.

Which was, Héloïse being generally not the best at communication aside, very confusing.

Not to say that Héloïse was confused about anything regarding women. Or 028, for that matter. She talked like that to everyone. It was just the way she was.

But still.

To offer an example:

It was one of the rare occasions Héloïse went home and/or changed her clothes.She did approximately one load of laundry every two months but her wardrobe was composed largely of button-downs so no one really could tell.

Except 028.

“Q,” she called, making a beeline toward Héloïse’s station.

That was another thing! ‘Q’, short for quartermaster. It wasn’t necessarily a flirty thing but the first time she had said it Héloïse’s ears went red (there was a different thing going on, specifically 028’s hand on her arm as she inquired about a new rocket launcher) and so she hadn’t let it go since.

“Q, you changed clothes.”

“I did,” Héloïse said.

She reached out, tugged once at the collar of Héloïse’s sweater. “Polyester. You want me to take you shopping?”

Héloïse felt her cheeks go hot. From the little quirk at the corner of 028’s mouth she knew she was now bright pink. “No thank you.”

“Okay,” she said, with a shrug. Her hand moved up to Héloïse’s shirt collar, very close to her bare throat. “I like this, though. The sweater over a button-down. Very rumpled.”

The pink deepened into an unflattering red.

“God, you’re cute,” said 028, and, satisfied with the havoc she had wreaked in Héloïse’s poor muddled brain, went off again.

IV

She brought Héloïse lunch.

All the time.

Here was how that started-

“Q,” she said. “Quartermaster, earth to Q. Your favourite agent is here.”

‘She’ in this context wasn’t 028. It was 009, who was kind of nice though very crazy. Off-the-rails crazy. Skin-your-cat-and-make-you-a-scarf-out-of-it crazy. (That one was a rumour but the fact that Héloïse had no trouble believing it kept her up at night wondering about her career choices.)

“Stealing my nickname?” said 028, who was sitting on Héloïse’s desk with her (bare) legs folded neatly. (Her dress today was a silky black number approximately ten inches too short for maintaining Héloïse’s productive work environment. And her thigh holster was visible.)

“Marxism, baby. Sharing is caring. Come on, quartermaster, let’s make small talk so crazy lady over there doesn’t kill us both. What’d you have for lunch today?”

“I don’t eat lunch,” Héloïse said.

Instantly 028 frowned. “You don’t eat lunch?”

Héloïse shrugged, slightly discomfited. “I don’t have time.”

“I’ll bring you lunch,” said 009.

“I’ll shoot you in the knee,” said 028, with a pleasant smile. (To 009.)

Three days later 028 arrived around noon bearing an enormous pile of rice and vegetables. She perched on the edge of Héloïse’s desk, took four bites, and then went to answer a knock on the door. Before she left she turned back to Héloïse and said, distractedly, “You can have the rest of that if you want.”

At that point Héloïse hadn’t eaten in about eleven hours. And it did smell very good.

When 028 came back the takeaway container was empty, and she whisked it away while brushing off all Héloïse’s apologies. She was smiling the whole time.

This happened twice more (over the next three weeks; they were, after all, very busy people) before Héloïse caught on. The next time 028 came in, this time with a greasy bag of spicy lamb kebabs, Héloïse was ready for her.

“I know your tricks,” she said, with narrowed eyes.

“What?”

“Leaving your food behind." Héloïse pointed an accusing finger, which immediately backfired because 028 tried to bite it, and _that_ was- a lot. "Trying to- to-”

“Trying to do what, Q?”

“Bring me lunch.”

028 gave up on the pretence and sat back on the lab countertop, giving Héloïse an almost-eyeful. “I just wanted you to have the option.”

“Well, I’m eating _your_ lunch,” Héloïse pointed out. Very rationally. “So now you’re not eating lunch.”

She blinked. Then leaned forward in a way that was not very conducive to Héloïse having thoughts. “So if I brought two…?”

“Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Yeah. We can have lunch- lunches.”

028 smiled. “Lunch lunches?”

Héloïse had been going to say lunch dates. But that was too forward, wasn’t it?

“Yes,” she said, and went back to the grenade she was tinkering with.

Two days later 028 opened the Q-Lab door with two bowls of udon and a smile that was very close to being shy. And from then on every two weeks or so they had lunch. Together.

It was nice.

V

Héloïse was compiling evidence for a particular theory. In her spare time, which was not very much. But there was plenty of raw data around, namely 028, who had just gotten back from a successful mission in Mumbai and had made it her prerogative to sit on Héloïse’s station and distract her from doing her job.

Here was the theory:

028 didn’t really like women, but she _did_ like making people flustered.

Unfortunately 011 came in post-Singapore mission with a complaint about his prosthesis foot and, while sitting in Q-Lab arguing with 009, disproved the theory entirely.

The exchange went something like this- 011 came in, handed over his foot, sat down on the bench, and threw a wrench at 009. She caught it and hurled it right back. Amiable connection established, they began a conversation, and Héloïse removed herself from the space beneath the lab countertop.

“Where’s oh-two-eight? She’s normally hanging upside-down around here.”

“In Norway or something. Hopefully getting fucked by a polar bear.”

“There aren’t any polar bears in Norway.”

“You ever been?”

“Twice.”

“Yeah, they wouldn’t touch you with a ten-foot-pole.”

“And they’d fuck 028?”

“You bet they would. Do you remember that one-“ 009 slipped into Italian for a moment- “in Florence? With the model? France’s finest had her hands-to-ankles breaking the bedframe. _And_ we were sharing a bathroom.”

At this point Héloïse elected to turn on some very loud music, thus drowning out the rest of the conversation.

So 028 engaged in intercourse with women.

That was good. To know.

VI

New theory:

028 liked women _and_ making people flustered. Héloïse was a person and therefore included under the latter category. And also the former, but she preferred not to think about that.

VII

There were four agents going on the next mission in Beijing, and it was high-level enough that Héloïse was required to attend the mission briefing. This was time-consuming and boring but 028 looked so happy to see Héloïse that she caved and stayed till the end. Also 028 kept nudging her under the table. It was the first time Héloïse had been touched in probably a month but that was certainly not worth mentioning.

Near the end of the meeting Headquarters announced, in his weary bureaucratic voice, “There will be a Q-Car provided for the exit plan. Keys will be given out by the quartermaster.”

Héloïse nodded and pulled up the 3D model on her screen. She was particularly proud of this one- a sleek pretty sports car outfitted like a psychopath’s wildest dream. It could even compact itself. And change colour! Predictably the agents were less interested in the colour-changing capabilities (even though Héloïse had gone to immense trouble to find a chemist able to help her) and more interested in the rocket launchers below the brake lights.

"I want to reiterate that the keys will be given to the agent deemed most likely to bring the car back in one piece," said Headquarters.

“Brutal,” 003 (notorious car-wrecker) said, very sadly. “Life’s a game of favourites.”

After the meeting 028 cornered Héloïse and asked, “Who’s your favourite agent?” Before she could answer she held up a finger, dangerously close to Héloïse’s mouth. “Don’t say you don’t have favourites.”

“I don’t.”

“Yes, you do.”

“No.”

“Come on. Is it me? Say it’s me.”

“It’s not you,” Héloïse lied.

“Q.”

“Oh-two-eight.”

“Say I’m your favourite and I’ll show you my tits.”

028 was smiling. A joke. She was joking.

“I don’t,” Héloïse managed to say, very gracefully. “I have to- go.”

(The car went to 028.)


	2. fourteen

VIII

A few weeks later, after 028 came back from the Beijing mission (car semi-intact), they were called into Headquarters’s office.

“We have a certain policy on working relationships,” he said.

For the first time 028 looked as surprised as Héloïse felt.

“We’re not in a relationship,” Héloïse said.

“No,” 028 agreed.

“If there is any sort of-“

“There isn’t.”

“No,” 028 agreed again.

He tried one last time, bless his soul. “But if you-“

“No.”

“Just be aware of the risks,” he said, and left it at that.

IX

All the agents had earpieces. They were supposed to have them in at all times during the mission (they did not). The earpieces themselves were Héloïse’s pride and joy- tiny spheres, custom fit for each agent and designed to be nearly invisible. Héloïse had been at the DGSE long enough to know each agent’s preferences when it came to connection (though this wasn't much of an accomplishment given there were only twelve of them). Most of them stayed on the main channel, which went to Q-Lab and the other agents. Those were the ruthless professionals, who did their jobs efficiently and usually without too much paperwork. Some of them talked mostly to Headquarters, especially for the diplomatic or escort missions. Some of them preferred to stay on only with the other agents.

And then there was 028.

She did keep her earpiece in at all times. That was true. But because of three factors- 1. she was assigned mostly to solo missions, 2. she shared a fond disdain for Headquarters with most of the other agents, and 3. she liked making Héloïse’s job ten times more difficult- her channel was almost unvaryingly set to Q-Lab. And Q-Lab only.

Not that this was annoying.

Far from it, actually. Most of the time she muted the channel. When she didn’t it was mostly for mission purposes.

The problem was when she got really, exceptionally bored.

And then it was this:

“Q, I’m about to shower. What soap do you use? You always smell so good.”

“A bathrobe? Q, you really shouldn’t have. Want a picture?”

“Tell me how this thing works.” Then, when Héloïse finished her ten-minute spiel on the particular physics of grenade design (she really didn’t mean to go on that long, there was just so much to explain and she kept stopping to apologise for rambling), 028 sighed and said, in a tone that Héloïse couldn’t quite read, “I love it when you talk science to me.”

That particular line put Héloïse out of commission for an hour or so.

X

And then there was The Incident.

028 was in Tokyo, alone. It was two in the morning Paris time, so Héloïse was still awake. She was experimenting with putting blades in boots so that they would pass easily through a metal detector, and doing very well at it.

Relevant information: the earpieces were programmed to connect automatically to Q-Lab whenever the AI sensed the words ‘quartermaster’, ‘Q-Lab’, and/or ‘Q’. It was hands-free, perfect for tricky situations.

Which meant that at some point there was the slight ‘click’ of an earpiece connecting, and then the little jingle that meant it was 028.

Héloïse waited a moment.

Then 028 let out a laboured-sounding breath, and Héloïse got very worried. People got stabbed all the time in this industry. Or shot. Or worse.

“Oh-two-eight,” she asked.

028 made a startled sound, sort of like a squeak, and then- _this_ was the confusing part- a low almost pained noise.

“Oh-two-eight,” Héloïse said again, and the earpiece disconnected.

Five seconds later it reconnected and 028 said, sunnily as ever, “Hi, Q. Sorry about that. Little tech glitch. What are you planning on for breakfast?”

They didn’t talk about it any more after that. If anybody thought Héloïse was capable of asking _028_ ‘were you just touching yourself and maybe thinking about me’, they were an idiot. So she couldn’t really be sure.

But she could think about it.

And she did.

A lot.

XI

Héloïse got an earpiece a few weeks later, at 028’s insistence. Technically it could connect to anything, but it was by and large used for 028 to narrate her various escapades. (She was on a quest to find the best sandwich in the world. So far the front-runner was some chicken-and-bean affair in Cuba. Héloïse was more invested in it than she cared to admit.)

This meant that now Héloïse had 028 in her ear at all times. Making kissy noises and dirty jokes and complaining about the traffic in Lagos.

It was one of those late nights, so late that it was practically morning. Héloïse had spent the last few hours bent over a prototype for an automatic syringe, and at some point she had tipped all the way forward face-down, because-

“Q,” said 028.

“Christ,” Héloïse got out, lurching upright in her chair. She looked frantically around, squinting at the harsh fluorescents, but there was no one else in the lab.

“Not there, darling.” 028’s voice was quiet. The audio quality was superb, Héloïse thought, with a slight blush of pride. If she closed her eyes she could almost imagine that 028 was hovering right behind her shoulder. “You fell asleep with the earpiece in.”

“I did?”

“Yes. You snore, you know.”

“I don’t.”

“Don’t worry, it’s cute.”

Héloïse had nothing to say to this. Luckily 028 knew when to continue a conversation.

“How often do you sleep?”

“How- often? I don’t know. Whenever.”

“Q,” she said, chiding. Her voice was so soft. Like butter, or a pile of pine needles. “Darling, you have to sleep.”

“No.” That was two ‘darling’s now. Héloïse flushed and decided not to count them. “I’m meant to be fixing the Q-Car.”

“Leave the car. Sleep.”

“But the seat doesn’t-“

“Sleep,” she said, in a tone that brooked no argument.

Héloïse’s resolve slipped and withered down into a little stump. “You’re going to wake me up in thirty-nine minutes.”

“Yes.”

“Okay.” She leaned back in her chair. “Q-Lab, sleep lights.”

The fluorescent lights flicked off, and round the perimeter of the lab the floor turned a soft warm gold. Héloïse closed her eyes again.

“Good night, Q,” 028 whispered, with a smile in her voice.

“Night.”

It was only when she woke to the soft sound of swearing that Héloïse realised she hadn’t taken out the earpiece.

“What’s happening,” she mumbled.

“Don’t worry,” 028 said, which was never a good sign.

Héloïse sat up. “What?”

“Suit through the floor of my room. He’s out, just putting him in the bathroom. Nice of you to get me a suite.”

Héloïse already had the live footage pulled up. (The mission was high-profile enough that Headquarters had ordered a cam set up in the hotel room. The first time Héloïse checked it she had seen 028 taking off her shirt. She hadn’t looked again since.)

On the screen 028 was bent over an enormous man, hauling him by the armpits one step at a time. She was wearing a nightgown, rucked up on one side enough so that the bottom of her holster was visible.

“You sleep with a gun on you?”

028 looked up, and dropped the man in favour of waving at the camera.

“Hi,” she said. This time Héloïse could see her smile, though it was a little grainy. It was- nicer than Héloïse remembered it being. Which was already very nice.

“Hi,” Héloïse echoed. There was a pause, then she coughed and looked to her other screens. “Three in the hallway outside. Two to the left ten feet away, one to the right approaching.”

028 straightened and drew her gun. “Out the window?”

“Are you injured?”

“Not a scratch. Any of your toys I should bring?”

“Shoes. They’re at the door.”

On-screen 028 slipped the shoes on, then opened the window and cut a neat hole in the screen.

“ _Please_ be careful,” Héloïse asked, her breath catching a little in her throat.

028 paused from where she was halfway out the window, and offered a tiny salute. And then she slipped out of sight.

Just as the doorknob rattled.

“They’re coming in,” Héloïse said. She pulled up the surveillance from the twelfth floor of the opposite building, and rotated the camera. There she was- a tiny silhouette, moving remarkably quickly along the edge of the hotel. It was one of the art deco ones, which meant there were plenty of balconies.

“Two suits in the hotel lobby.”

“Okay,” said 028. Then, “It’s windy. I like these shoes.”

“Vacuum mechanism,” Héloïse said vaguely, and with a few taps sent in a car. “Come on, let’s get you out of there.”

XII

Another thing 028 did a lot of- touching. A hand on Héloïse’s knee. An arm draped over her shoulders. A kiss dangerously low on her cheek, which left a lipstick stain and a blush that lasted for hours.

Héloïse was in general not good at reading people. She had dated women before. But not very well, and certainly not for very long. So she was out of touch, with this whole dating thing. Not to mention that it was a terrible idea to even sleep with her. 028, not Héloïse. Actually it was a terrible idea to sleep with either of them. 028 went out and shot people for a living. Héloïse made things to help her shoot people. Neither of those careers made them eligible for normal dating lives.

But still.

XIII

It was a Tuesday morning and Héloïse was showing 028 the unfolding gun she had designed.

“This cartridge has cyanide embedded in it,” she said. Then- and she had been waiting _weeks_ to show 028 this particular invention, it had taken three separate trips- “But this- these are just for you.”

“You didn’t.”

Héloïse beamed. “The shell is super-cooled to prevent it from melting as it exits the barrel, and the friction should warm it just enough to make it easy to bite.”

“I want to kiss you,” 028 said.

She said it so plainly, was the problem. As if she was noting the weather. She was sitting on her hands on the edge of the lab countertop and her feet were tucked in next to Héloïse’s thigh and her expression didn’t change even a little bit.

Héloïse, predictably, fumbled the gun. She caught it before it hit the floor, then got up too quickly and banged her head on the bottom of the countertop.

“Oh, jesus,” said 028, and immediately there was a soft touch at the back of Héloïse’s head, which hurt like a _bitch_. “Are you alright?”

“Yes,” Héloïse said, slightly muffled by the weight of humiliation. “Sorry.”

“Why are you saying sorry? It’s okay, you know. You don’t have to say anything.”

When Héloïse finally mustered the nerve to look up 028 was smiling, a tiny quirk of her mouth.

“Okay,” she said, sliding gracefully off the desk. “I’ll get you some ice for that, and then I’m off to Shanghai.”

XIV

Nothing changed, really.

Except it was the biggest thing that had happened to Héloïse probably since she graduated. Actually graduation had nothing on this in terms of important life events. Graduation was expected and normal and did not involve lethal beautiful impossible secret agents declaring their interest in _kissing_. But 028 wanted to- to- she might have been joking, Héloïse thought, in the staggering breathless moment after the Q-Lab door clicked shut. But she hadn’t been joking. Héloïse knew 028 (though who could really _know_ anyone in a top-secret organisation of spies and liars and wanted agents) and she knew the face 028 made when she was joking. And that hadn’t been it.

So there was that to think about, too.


	3. twenty-one

XV

One week later 028 was in a tiny house on the outskirts of Dhaka. Héloïse was in the lab, as usual. They were going about their days in companionable silence, Héloïse scanning some promising new malware and 028 reading through her mission file for the umpteenth time.

Then there was the sound of paper rustling and 028 said, “Q?”

“Yes?”

“I’m going to turn off this thing for a second.”

“Oh,” Héloïse said, a little confused. “Okay. You don’t have to tell me.”

“I know, it’s just-“ 028 huffed. “A girl likes to have manners.”

“I don’t mind.” That was sort of a lie. But everyone needed their space. Actually, now that Héloïse was thinking about it, they spent an awful lot of time together.

Well, not together. But talking to each other.

There was more silence.

“Have I hurt you?”

“No,” Héloïse said, very quickly.

028 sighed. “Sorry. Please don’t be hurt. I’m going to go touch myself, that’s all.”

…

“Q?”

XVI

It took a long time to process.

Specifically seven hours.

By which time Héloïse was lying down on the tiny bed in Q-Lab, and the sudden realisation was enough to get her a good inch off the mattress.

 _She had been touching herself_. After Héloïse, beet-red and mute, had turned off her earpiece, and gone back to staring blankly at a wall of code. 028 had spent that time touching herself. And thinking about maybe-Héloïse-but-that-was-wishful-thinking. _Touching herself_.

Héloïse was very morally conflicted about how that made her feel.

Not conflicted enough to stop herself from getting off to it. But still conflicted.

XVII

Because of some cosmic imbalance in the universe’s ledgers (Héloïse was not yet sure on whether it was in her favour or not), this happened over and over again. 028 would cough, or make a little noise, and then say, “Okay, Q, I’ll be right back.” And Héloïse would give her strangled assent. Then she would sit there alone in the lab for the next ten minutes, doing zero work and trying not to think too hard about it.

By the seventh time this happened Héloïse was finally used to it. Which was never a good sign as 028 seemed to love surprising her.

“I’m going to-“

“Okay,” Héloïse said hastily, before she could finish that sentence. “Have a nice time.”

028 paused. Then she said, “If you wanted to listen.” Her tone was light but it wasn’t quite a joke, there was a question there. She was asking.

“Listen,” Héloïse repeated, faintly.

“Yes. I don’t have to turn it off.”

Héloïse tried to think of the least embarrassing way she could say ‘I am appallingly turned on by the thought of that’ and came up empty-handed.

“You don’t-”

“No, it’s-“

“Sorry, that was-“

“Yes,” Héloïse said, very loudly. And then swore internally. What the hell was that?

“Yes what?” 028 asked, with a faint edge of amusement.

Of course she wanted Héloïse to ask for it. She swallowed the remains of her pride, and said, very softly, “Please.”

028 made a sound.

A confusing sound.

“Q,” she said, and then there was the rustling of bedsheets, maybe, or her clothes, or the pillowcase rubbing up against the earpiece. “ _Fuck_ , Q.”

Oh, God. It was happening. It was really happening. Héloïse curled her fingers around the edge of the countertop and listened, tried not to breathe so as to hear every last sound. 028 in a luxury hotel bed, thousand-thread count sheets pooling around her hips, legs spread. Naked. Hands- somewhere. 

“Where are your hands,” Héloïse asked, and immediately felt like an idiot.

But there was no amusement. Instead 028 let out a shaky breath and said, “On my stomach. Moving down.”

The image solidified. 028, leaned back a little against the headboard. Eyes half-lidded. Teasing herself. Héloïse pressed a hand to her own stomach, and noticed, abruptly, that she was wet. Enough so that it almost hurt, a deep persistent throb between her legs.

As if she had read Héloïse’s mind 028 asked, “Are you touching yourself?”

“I’m in the Q-Lab.”

“That’s no excuse, baby.” At some point in the last ten seconds her voice had slipped into a dark smokey timbre that made Héloïse squeeze her thighs together and think, desperately, of lab safety protocols.

She coughed and re-directed. “What are you doing?”

“Playing with myself.” 028 was back in her element now, low and confident and _hot_. “Ask me what I’m thinking about.”

That was an order. Héloïse thought, unbidden, of 028’s hand in her hair, tugging her head back. Biting her. Telling her what to do.

“What are you thinking about?”

028 pounced. “You,” she purred. “You, baby. Your hands, your mouth.”

Héloïse was hot all over, trembling. She slid a hand between her legs and pressed, just to take the edge off.

“Yes,” she said. Her voice was high, embarrassingly high. 028 seemed to like it because she groaned and shifted a little.

“I want your fingers in me,” she breathed, and _there_ was the sound, unmistakeable. “Want to get you off in the lab.” A low hum, trailing off into a sigh. “Want to see you come.”

 _Fuck._ Fuck, this was bad. Héloïse had, somehow without her noticing, started touching herself in earnest. She had one hand braced against the lab counter and she was panting, loud enough that 028 could certainly hear it, if the gain on the earpiece was working. And she was already so close.

“You- like you so much,” 028 said, nonsensically. “So pretty.”

Héloïse flushed at the praise. “You, too,” she got out.

“Are you sensitive, Q?” Her voice like a touch trailing down Héloïse’s neck. “You want to be teased? Held down?”

“Want you,” said Héloïse. Sentences were no longer in her grasp. It got the job done, clearly, because 028 let out a sharp gasp.

“Yeah?” she breathed. “Are you close?”

“Yes.” The tail end of a groan. “Yes, yes, I’m-“

And she was there, shuddering, nearly doubling over with the force of it, almost hitting her head on the lab countertop. 028 wasn’t far behind- dimly Héloïse heard her murmur, “Want you to tie me up,” which was, oh God, and then, “Q, baby, _oh_ -“

XVIII

After that it was a little awkward.

028 said, sleepily, “Good night, Q.”

“Night.”

There was the tiny clink of the earpiece being set off to the side, and then the distant sound of 028 rolling over in bed.

Which left Héloïse alone in the lab, still half-bent over the countertop, in the warm haze of post-orgasm, fingers twitching on the edge of the counter.

With a lot to think about.

XIX

Luckily she did not have very much time to think about it.

028 started the next day with a bang, a literal one, which was to say an explosion in her hotel room. It had the effect of waking both of them up, and also scaring Héloïse nearly to death.

“028, clear,” she snapped, locking immediately into the cam and wiping the sleep from her eyes with a grimace. All debris, a cloud of smoke and dust. “Code?”

“Yellow,” came 028’s voice, thank God, crystal clear in Héloïse’s ear. Unharmed (probably; agents could be very stoic). “Q-Car?”

“Untouched. Go. Left down the hall, two rights. Go through room 109, the key’s under the mat.”

The instant 028 was safely in the Q-Car and the armour protocol had been initiated, Héloïse paged Headquarters. He was in Q-Lab not a minute later, peering at the enormous main screen, which was displaying the windshield view of the Q-Car.

“Damn militants,” he said.

“I’m going to start driving toward Ambanja,” 028 informed them, as the Q-Car peeled out onto the hotel road. “Lots of company. Nice vacation. Did I tell you I saw a lemur?”

“Focus, please,” Héloïse said.

She huffed. “Just making conversation, darling.”

“Try to stay alive instead.”

On the screen the car lurched and jumped. There was a shower of sparks and a volley of gunshots echoing through Héloïse’s earpiece.

“They’re shooting,” 028 said cheerfully.

“Sharp left ahead,” Héloïse snapped. “Two streets, off the port road. That’ll take you through an alley. Then right after at least two streets. Try to lose them.”

“Yes, captain.”

On the big screen the car turned hard to the left with a squeal of tyres. It stalled for a moment, then accelerated, thankfully in the forward direction.

“Send in extraction,” Headquarters barked, and disappeared off.

Another volley of gunshots and 028 swore. “Is he gone?”

“Yes. Can you get yourself to the Ambanja road through here?”

“Q, you’re beautiful,” 028 said very seriously, in lieu of an actual answer.

What the fuck? “Four behind you. Rifle at 5 o’clock.”

“I mean it. You’re gorgeous.”

God, what _was_ it with agents? Héloïse shook her head, fingers flying over her keyboard. Pulling up the footage at the traffic lights as 028 sped through them. “Two guns, 8 o’clock, coming up.”

“Can they shoot out my tyres?”

Héloïse scoffed. “No.”

028 laughed, soft and amused. There was the sound of rapid gunfire and a few distant screams from people in togs.

“Q?”

“Once you get to Ambanja there's a helicopter waiting in the hangar, keys in the main office. Yes?”

“I’m afraid I might not get there.”

Héloïse’s hands stilled on the keyboard for a moment. “What?”

“Gun to my head. Sorry.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Well, not gun. Bomb. Don’t worry, I’ll get out of the Q-Car first.”

No.

“Oh-two-eight,” Héloïse said, uncomprehending.

She was getting out of the car. Waving at the dash-cam. _Smiling_.

“Asshole move, putting a bomb in there during surgery.”

The smile was tremulous, shaky. Her pursuers were going to catch up with her soon. If they did she was dead. What surgery? How long had she known? How many hours?

“Get back in the car,” Héloïse said.

She shook her head. “You love that car.”

“ _Get in the car_ ,” Héloïse ordered, again, helplessly. “Extraction team incoming. Oh-two-eight, get in the car and lock the doors.”

“Q, baby-”

“Don’t call me that,” she snapped, suddenly furious. “Don’t call me that unless you’re going to get back in.”

“Okay,” 028 said, peaceably, and got back in the car. Héloïse was panicking now, in a cold dreadful way that yanked and twisted in her stomach. “Q-“

There was nothing Héloïse could do. She could change anything but if it was _inside_ 028, if it was under her skin-

“Q, it’s okay.”

It really wasn’t. “Come back alive,” she asked (begged), a last-ditch effort. “Promise.”

There was a slight pause.

“Alive,” Héloïse repeated.

“Promise,” 028 said.

“Okay.” She breathed. “Okay, 028, can you-“

The earpiece cut out.

XX

The days after that were bad.

XXI

Héloïse did not (could not) watch the rewound footage. It was 009 who did that. She reported that 028 had shattered the internal cam right after the earpiece cut. The external cams showed men in military uniforms arriving, looking through the windows, and going. They came back the next day with a tow truck, spent a few minutes arguing, and then carted the Q-Car away. By that time 011 had arrived, and he reported blood on the driver’s seat. A lot of it. But no body.

No body.

That was Héloïse’s lifeline throughout the search.

Even when there was no sign of 028 in the weeks that followed. Nor so much as a footstep. All the trails were flimsy hopeful things that sputtered out a few steps in but Héloïse tried them each regardless.

She had promised, Héloïse thought. It was a ridiculous sentiment considering there had been a bomb _inside her_ so she kept it to herself, but when Headquarters declared her missing in action that was what Héloïse thought. She had promised. And 028 did not make promises lightly. Not to Héloïse.

And that was all she had.


	4. twenty-eight

XXII

The search dragged on.

One week. Then two. Pacing, snapping at anyone who dared enter Q-Lab without news. Trying to fix the salvaged Q-Car. Looking (not looking) for the signs of detonation. The reinforced upholstery blown to bits. The familiar whorls of 028’s fingerprints on the door handle, the steering wheel, the edge of the seat. Two solitary fingerprints on the inside of the reinforced windshield. As if in the last moments she had been reaching out.

Three weeks.

Four.

After a month had passed Headquarters paid her a visit and asked, as politely as he knew, if she would mind going back to work. There were other agents, after all, who were relying on her to deliver them home.

What could Héloïse say to that?

She went back to work. Slept only when she couldn’t stay awake any longer. Blew through packs of cigarettes. Tried not to think about it.

XXIII

Two months to the day. Taking apart an old mangled grenade. She hadn’t eaten in days. Normal by now. Vision blurry. Hadn’t slept in a while. Starting to feel. Just a little.

Click of the Q-Lab door. Voice disabled. Didn’t want to hear it.

“Hey, boss.”

009.

“What are you up to?”

Héloïse showed her the grenade.

“Okay. You thought about eating?”

Nod. Rouse herself. Still alive. “Yes, I’m about to go to the cafeteria.”

“Want me to come with?”

Didn’t really care. Either way. “If you’d like.”

Cafeteria bright, blinding. Head down Héloïse went to the salad bar. Smell of meat made her nauseous now. Murmurs of “hi, quartermaster.” Nice of them. No one said “Q” anymore.

Lingering by the olives. Remembered her brandishing a tin of them. Katz’s Delicatessen. New York City. Best she’d ever had. Fifth on the sandwich list, that place. I’ll take you sometime.

Enough.

Back to the lab.

Door open. 014 inside. Apologetic smile. Same expression they all looked at her with.

“What is it?” Héloïse asked.

“I have a gift for you.”

Firequencher prototype! A little thrill. Héloïse put down her salad and went to it. Pretty thing. Bamako area, probably. German build. Hadn’t done any proper reverse engineering in a while.

“Thank you,” she said. Nice man.

“Of course.”

Toolkit out of drawer. Gloves. Mask. Careful with these things. Potential for explosion. Oxygen exposure.

Lost herself a little. For a while. Hours.

Better.

Opened her eyes to the Q-Lab lights still on. Awake. Asleep before? Eleven in the morning. Something woke her.

A knock.

Headquarters, probably. Coming to check on her. Nice man too. All nice people.

“Q-Lab, open door.”

Voice scratchy. Throat dry. Parched. Find water. Bottle from a week ago still under the desk. Reached under tried to find it. There- just out of reach. Stretched a little further. Rustle from the door. Wonder who.

“Hi, Q.”

Q.

No.

No way.

Didn’t dare look up. “You’re meant to be dead,” she said. Conversationally. Heart jolting, re-starting.

“Q, baby.” Slow footsteps moving toward her, purposefully loud. Not wearing heels. Maybe the shoes Héloïse gave her. Maybe barefoot. Who knew what she had been doing for the last two months?

Hallucination, probably. Lack of sleep. The footsteps were getting closer. Soon Héloïse was going to have to look up.

“Q,” she said, again. Héloïse’s chair spun, slowly, around.

And there she was.

Tired. Dark purple thumbprints under her eyes, harsh enough to be bruises. A new scar spidering across her throat, disappearing under her collar. She was wearing a white ‘I Survived The Rainforest Zipline’ shirt that hung just a little too big, a rare occurrence. Her holster was gone. She was smiling. A tiny weary smile, but it was real, and so was she, she was here. Alive, real.

“Oh-two-eight,” Héloïse whispered.

“Hi.”

She was shaking. Not 028, even though she had walked out of hell into the DGSE headquarters. It was Héloïse who was trembling, so badly that when she touched the side of 028’s shoulder they could both feel it.

“Are you,” Héloïse breathed, “Are you-”

“Alive,” 028 said, and caught Héloïse’s hands in hers. “Hi.”

“Where have you-“ she began, then stopped. It didn’t really matter now, did it? Instead she surged forward and wrapped her arms round 028, who let out a soft startled ‘oof’, and hugged her back. She smelled like gunpowder and her hair was greasy but she was warm and soft and indubitably in Héloïse’s arms.

“Missed you,” Héloïse whispered, into her neck.

028’s head turned a little and there was an unmistakeable kiss pressed to the side of Héloïse’s head. “I missed you too.”

XXIV

Things got a lot better after that.

028’s triumphant return was marked by a rather touchingly awkward hug from 009 and a briefing meeting with Headquarters which Héloïse was not allowed to attend. (Of course she had bugs placed strategically throughout all the DGSE conference rooms, but Headquarters had learned to communicate mostly in code. Héloïse was working on breaking it.) After the meeting concluded 028 was immediately installed in the medbay, as was one of the Q-Lab portable desks. From then on Héloïse hardly left her side.

It took a few conversations to piece the story together. 028, even post-surgery with four separate tubes coming out of her, persisted in sharing information exclusively in the cheeriest most nonchalant tone in her arsenal, which made it difficult to gauge exactly what had occurred.

But here was the (probable) sequence of events.

028 had smashed the inward-facing cameras with her gun. Then she had used a sharp knife and the first-aid kit to cut herself open, remove the bomb (no explanation was given and it was very likely none would ever be given), and stitch herself up again. She had blacked out from the pain, though not before detonating the bomb in one of Héloïse’s safe-boxes. The militants had arrived, decided she was dead, and left to secure a truck capable of towing the Q-Car.

And then she had gone staggering off into the rainforest. Like an _idiot._

“Oh,” 028 said at this point, perking up. “I brought one of those little tourist cameras with me. Look!”

The pictures were almost exclusively of rather dangerous-looking animals. “Panther chameleon,” 028 said, pointing. “Oh! Poison dart frog. Look how tiny it is. Another chameleon. More frogs. Two of them! And a lemur with a baby in the tree.”

Some other things had happened. Back-alley surgery after the wound got infected. Finding her way back to the coast, boarding a cruise ship to Beira, from there using a fake passport to get through to Nairobi. Then a run-in with a group of disreputable people, which explained the throat scar. That put her out of commission for two weeks. After that there was a flight hitched to Casablanca, a ship up to Lisbon, a stolen car driven all the way to the border without stopping. A long argument with the border agents. Granted passage through. The N134 onto the A65. The Quai de Bercy. And finally the DGSE headquarters. Where she must have come straight to Héloïse.

XXV

Three months later Héloïse was balancing a mug of coffee and hurrying along the hallway toward Q-Lab. She had finally hit on an alteration to one of the umbrella prototypes, and was eager to put it to the test. In the hallway outside the Q-Lab door 028 (finally allowed out of the medbay though strictly banned from missions for another month) was tugging on her jacket. When she saw Héloïse her face brightened.

“Q!” she called, and Héloïse let herself be derailed as per usual. “Want to take me shopping?”

“For what?”

“Clothes, darling. Business to attend to.”

“I make you all your clothes.”

“You can’t make lingerie,” 028 said, and- this was what did it- brushed her thumb teasingly over Héloïse’s bottom lip.

Héloïse managed to say, on autopilot, “Yes, I can,” before the vegetable state hit. A few drops of coffee ended up on her sweater. The rest went on the floor.

028 was smiling, clearly pleased with the reaction she had gotten. “I have a fitting appointment in ten minutes. Do you want to come?”

She did.

“I thought of a,” Héloïse said, pointing at the door. “A thing. But I want to come.”

028’s expression softened. Her head tilted and she reached out to tug, lightly, on the cuff of Héloïse’s sweater.

“How long do you need?” she asked.

“I don’t know. An hour?”

“Okay. I’ll move it back.”

“You will?”

“Of course,” 028 said, as if it had never occurred to her to think otherwise.

XXVI

Two hours later Héloïse found herself sitting outside a closed curtain, listening to 028 being naked on the other side of it. The saleswoman hovered just out of earshot, shooting occasional curious glances at Héloïse (who, in a coffee-stained lumpy old sweater and ill-fitting pants, was not exactly the ideal patron of a designer lingerie store). Overall, Héloïse decided, the situation was not fantastic.

“Q,” came 028’s voice, through the curtain. “Come here, please.”

Héloïse stood (the saleswoman coughed and quickly averted her eyes) and tugged the curtain just far enough to slip through. “What do you-“

The words died in her throat.

028 was wearing nothing but a lacy lingerie set. A simple affair, deep dark red lace tracing the geometric swooping lines of her hipbones. And, above the smooth expanse of bare stomach, a matching bra, the straps thin and delicate enough to rip right off. She was facing the mirror, eyes half-closed, scrutinising, and there was more skin on display than Héloïse could really handle.

She looked up. Met Héloïse’s eyes in the mirror.

“What do you think?” she asked.

Héloïse took a step closer. Close enough to feel how warm she was. Then another step. 028 breathed in, slow and just barely unsteady. Was she nervous? Good. That made two of them.

“I like it,” Héloïse said.

“It has a nice texture. Do you want to feel it?”

That was a challenge. In the mirror she was smiling, a tiny teasing quirk of the mouth. Clearly she was expecting Héloïse to stutter or stumble over her words. Anything but reach out and trace the very tip of her index finger along the band beneath her breasts, which was what Héloïse did.

028’s chest rose and fell, very quickly.

The lace was delicate and satiny but 028’s skin was softer, warmer. Brazenly Héloïse let her nail scrape along 028’s ribcage, and felt her tremble a little. In the mirror her eyes were everywhere, jumping between Héloïse’s face and the single finger now sliding up, over the lace, skimming round the swell of her breast, up the shoulder strap, and down again. Into dangerous territory, namely the vee of lace. Héloïse, feeling a little lightheaded, stopped at the base of the strap.

In the mirror 028’s eyes were half-lidded and dark. Her lips were parted. Shining. She was looking at Héloïse like she wanted to eat her alive.

“Good,” was Héloïse’s verdict.

“Yeah,” breathed 028. It was a tone Héloïse knew, very distinctly, from a few months ago. _Ask me what I’m thinking about_. “Wanna feel the underwear?”

This time Héloïse let herself really look. There was the scar from the surgery, the puffed pink skin around it disappearing under the dark red lace. Overlapping it was a bullet scar, an entry one. More scars lower down. Endearingly 028 had a slight tan line on her leg, a pale outline of her thigh holster. From this close Héloïse could smell her perfume.

“Okay,” she said.

“Okay.”

Héloïse reached down and brushed her hand along 028’s hipbone. She shifted back, maybe unconsciously, as Héloïse’s fingers slid along the edge of the lace. Very slowly. Lower was the most dangerous game of all but Héloïse followed the lace until she could go no further. There it was almost impossibly warm, soft enough to give under the slightest touch. And she was wet.

She was wet.

“Is everything fitting alright?” called the saleswoman.

028 twitched a little but she didn’t move away. Instead she reached up and threaded her fingers through Héloïse’s hair.

“Q,” she said, quietly. Her head turned a little and, oh God, she was close enough to kiss.

“Yes?”

“Take the weekend off.”

XXVII

Héloïse took the weekend off.

XXVIII

028 brought her to a beach house, which was a few hours’ drive out of Paris. It wasn’t as luxurious as her usual but it was gorgeous nonetheless, all wood floors and sky blue walls and enormous windows letting the light pour in, with the ocean just twenty steps from the back door.

The house itself had three bedrooms, which Héloïse thought might be overkill. 028 was very clear, actually shockingly clear to the point of redundancy, that she didn’t want to do anything that would make either of them regret anything. Personally Héloïse thought that line, or at least what she thought 028 meant by that line, had been crossed approximately one year ago. Probably more. But 028 was so endearingly earnest about the whole thing that she didn’t bother saying it.

“All right,” 028 said, looking very satisfied. They had unpacked her three suitcases and Héloïse’s two, and it was nigh on time for lunch. “What do you want to do?”

Héloïse shrugged and sat down on the edge of her bed, which was in the bedroom across the hallway from 028’s bedroom (again: overkill). The doors were open so at least they could see each other. “What do _you_ want to do?”

“Have lunch.”

“Let’s do that, then.”

The lunch place was half-full and exactly the sort of thing Héloïse liked. Inexpensive, warm, good food. 028 was as charming as ever except she kept sneaking little looks over at Héloïse, which was worrying.

“What’s wrong,” Héloïse finally asked, after the fourth look.

“Nothing,” 028 said, mostly to her salmon. Then, after a moment of silence, “I didn’t know you owned beachwear.”

“It’s just a green shirt.”

“I know,” 028 said mournfully. “God.”

“What?”

“I told you to pack a bathing suit.”

“I don’t own a bathing suit.”

“I _know_. I was trying to get you to borrow mine.”

Héloïse blinked.

“Nevermind,” 028 said, spearing a piece of broccoli. “How are the noodles?”

Afterward they went to the boardwalk, and at 028’s insistence tried on novelty hats. Upon seeing Héloïse put on one of the cow variety 028 made an odd face and tugged the brim all the way down. Héloïse spluttered and complained but 028 batted her hands away and said, close enough that Héloïse could taste her candy-sweet breath, “Stop being so cute,” and there was really very little Héloïse could say to that.

By nine o’clock they had almost-kissed probably seven times and the sun had long set on the boardwalk. 028 was being chivalrous and courteous which was nice except Héloïse just wished she would be _normal._ The 028 of yesterday would have kissed her already. Or was she waiting for Héloïse to kiss her? That was an unnerving thought. Héloïse stole a glance at her and found her looking back, eyes big and waiting.

Okay. So she was waiting for Héloïse to kiss her, probably.

Héloïse took a breath and said, “Do you want to go back?”

“Oh, sure,” 028 said, and yawned in a way that would have been convincing had Héloïse not known her so well. “Can’t wait to go to sleep.”

Sleep?

“Okay,” Héloïse agreed, newly unsure. “Let’s-“

“Yes, let’s go.”

Once back at the house 028 did a routine sweep of the place while Héloïse fussed with the record player in the living room. It was quiet, the wood floor a little creaky, and there was a warm breeze stirring the thin white curtains of the open windows. Upstairs 028 was padding about, her footsteps silent but her humming just loud enough to hear. She was doing that on purpose, Héloïse thought, and flushed pink.

The record she chose from the stack was a muted soft jazzy thing, a woman singing about her lover. Fitting maybe. Or too much? No, too late to change it now. She smoothed her hands down the front of her pants and set about arranging the records in alphabetical order. Nervous.

Behind her the humming grew louder, slid into the key of the song. When Héloïse looked back 028 was dancing, swaying a little with her hands just above her head. She saw Héloïse watching her. Smiled, and Héloïse let herself be pulled in. She had no idea how to dance but 028 knew that, of course, and she reached for Héloïse’s hands and put them on her shoulders. Her hands went on Héloïse’s waist. Warmth bleeding through Héloïse’s thin shirt, bare skin practically. So close.

Not sleeping, then.

028’s eyelashes were remarkably long. If Héloïse had to guess, almost two centimetres. Maybe 1.7. Her eyes were- on Heloïse’s. Eyebrows raised. Smiling.

“Hi,” Héloïse said lamely.

“Hi. What are you thinking about?”

“Eyelashes.”

It said a lot about both of them that 028 took that in stride. “Okay,” she said. “What about them?”

“Yours are long. For the average.”

“Really? What’s the average?”

“I think one centimetre.”

“Sounds about right.”

“Yes,” Héloïse agreed. Her gaze slid to the window. Then back to 028. “Are you planning on kissing me?”

028 blinked very rapidly, three times in quick succession. “Are _you_?”

“I don’t know. I was hoping you would do it so I wouldn’t have to.”

“That seems unfair.”

“It does.”

“There must be a way around it.”

Héloïse nodded, and considered it seriously. This was, after all, a matter of the utmost gravity. “Maybe if we leaned in at the same time?”

028 was beaming ear-to-ear. “Mhm.”

“Why are you smiling?”

“No reason.”

Héloïse’s eyes narrowed in suspicion.

“Really,” 028 said, laughing openly now. “No reason.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“You shouldn’t.”

Impasse. Héloïse looked at her. She looked back. The lady on the record was singing about walking down an avenue.

They leaned in at the same time. It would have been perfect but Héloïse changed the angle at the last moment and their noses bumped and Héloïse was considering despair but 028 laughed, a soft puff of air, and her hand slid up Héloïse’s jaw and tipped her chin to the side and their mouths fit together.

Warm. Soft. Heat swelling through her cheeks, down her neck to her chest. 028 moving a little, just experimental tiny kisses, derivatives of kisses, at Héloïse’s bottom lip. Chest to chest they were. Could feel her everywhere. Still singing in the background, a soft warbling sustained note.

Hot wet glance of tongue. Slightest touch. Shock, _entre-jambes_. All the way down her spine. Wondered did she feel the same? Wanted to make her. Make her feel.

Héloïse’s hands slid down 028’s waist. Pushed her up against the back of the couch. She went easily, mouth opening a little, and Héloïse took the opportunity to bite, gently, at her bottom lip. She let out a sound that Héloïse stole, echoed, cavern of her warm open soft mouth, their mouths together, infinitely. Wet now. Good. My nerves hers all the same.

“Wait,” 028 whispered. “Waitwaitwait.”

Héloïse pulled back as if singed. “Sorry.” Stumbling back a little, caught by 028’s hands on her wrists. “Sorry,” again.

“No, no, not stop. Just-“ she chewed on her bottom lip for a moment, distractingly- “if you want to go upstairs.”

“Yes,” Héloïse said immediately, but 028 was still talking, saying, “Only if you’re sure, I am, I’m sure, are you drunk, did you drink anything, want to make sure you-“

Héloïse kissed her again. Answer enough.

They got to the bedroom- 028’s- and it was at the threshold that Héloïse remembered it had been approximately five years since she had done this, and furthermore that she had never done it with these sort of stakes. Though- she looked at 028, brows furrowed in concern, eyes nearly black, hands stroking up Héloïse’s arms, and thought that maybe the stakes weren’t all that high. One year it had been. Awkward and undainty and stilted and 028 had been there regardless, had come back from hell alive and went first to her. Before anyone else. And unless Héloïse messed it up very badly (35% probability) and they never spoke again (0.02%), they would be fine.

“Come to bed,” 028 whispered.

Sheets soft. High thread count. 028’s hands warm velvet skin kissing her again. Taste of oranges. Stretch me a bridge, shine of my life. Peeling off her shirt, 028’s fingers quick on the buttons, tossed to the side. Pants off too underwear caught on her ankle for a moment. Reaching for the zipper of 028’s dress, tugging it down, halfway. Distracted again by her mouth. The candy from the boardwalk and 028’s body hands everywhere hot sugar-sweet overheating overwhelmed sheets just skin heat re-reflected. Pushed back, down into the bed, back to silk yearning orange arching up lost a little a lot a lot too much.

“Are you alright?” she heard 028 ask, dimly registered the sudden rush of cool air as she sat back. Eyes screwed shut, tight. Hurt a little.

“Q?”

“Sorry,” she got out.

“No, don’t apologise. Too much?”

A quick nod, hands fisting the sheets.

“Want to stop?”

No. She shook her head with vehemence.

“Okay.” 028 hummed something, a little tune. “Do you want to- turn over maybe? On your stomach?”

It helped. Colder. 028 still humming, a gentle hand splayed on her bare back. Nice.

“You’re very tense,” 028 informed her.

“Mm?”

“Your back.” The hand flattened, swept down in a trail of warmth. “Tense.”

“Oh. From the lab bench. I had them raised but it’s still not the best.”

“And you never stretch. And you sit too far from the bench.”

Those were fair accusations.

“Oh, a knot,” 028 said cheerfully, and there was no more warning before she dug her thumb in, _hard_. Héloïse felt about fourteen different muscles spasm. Not quite of her own volition she let out a quiet guttural groan. Mostly of pain. But also.

028 hummed curiously. There was a moment of rustling, then a leg sliding over the back of Héloïse’s thighs. “You like that,” she asked, soft and close to Héloïse’s ear.

The throb between Héloïse’s legs decided abruptly to make itself known. She nodded, not quite trusting her voice.

Both hands now. Smoothing up Héloïse’s bare back, down again. Thumbs digging in, the flat press of knuckles. Just under the shoulder blades. Up, under the wings of the bone. Tension melting away. Something hot lodging in Héloïse’s stomach, travelling downward.

“I’ve thought about this a lot,” 028 said, conversationally.

“Thought about what,” Héloïse said, slightly less conversationally by virtue of being so turned on she could hardly speak.

An unmistakeable kiss at the nape of Héloïse’s neck. “Doing this.”

“This?”

“And this.” Another kiss, lower down. Another off to the side. Randomly placed. Maybe? Some sort of pattern. “This too,” and that was a bite, a definite bite at her shoulder, and 028’s body pressing just for a moment all along Héloïse’s back. Héloïse took a sharp sudden breath.

She pulled back. Cool sudden in the absence. “Other things, too.”

Héloïse had an inkling of what those other things were. Reaching down she found 028’s hand, her clever lovely fingers. Tugged, gently. Down. Over the hipbone. Inside of thigh. Brave. 028 forced to lean down further, could feel the heat of her just behind.

“Yeah?” she asked.

Héloïse nodded, head turning to the side. Eyes still closed she let go, returned her hand to the sheet. 028’s fingers stroking. Not quite there yet. Highest she could go. The shift- 028 rearranging herself, gently pushing Héloïse’s knees apart- and then her hand slid up just a little further.

“Q,” she said, soft and awed.

Two fingers. Two fingers and Héloïse bit down on the pillow, groaning, hips twitching. “Inside,” she asked, needy and high, and 028 obeyed. That was good. Good. Her fingers curling a little inside Héloïse, hips flush to the back of Héloïse’s thighs, mouth hot and wet on the base of her neck. Good, good.

028’s other hand slid between her stomach and the sheet, bracing herself. So warm. Strong. Flex of muscle, brush of fabric against skin, 028’s dress still on. Pretty floral thing. God she was beautiful. “Is this good for you?” she whispered.

Héloïse’s answer was a very reasonable moan, which 028 seemed to appreciate from the way she sighed and let her fingers sink deeper, so her palm rubbed just against-

“Oh, _fuck_ ,” Héloïse bit out, and then, “More, please.”

Three. Three was a lot but Héloïse could take it, could angle her hips down and figure out the rhythm and yank the sheets nearly off the bed when she got it just right. Noises embarrassing but 028 liked them, and even worse, God, even worse was when she started to talk, voice a low sinuous purr even better than the earpiece, telling Héloïse how pretty she was, how gorgeous spread out like this, how good, how nice, how well she was doing, which was, could anyone really be _bad_ at this, it was 028 doing all the work, but she shifted up and her teeth closed round Héloïse’s ear and she cried out, a high mewling sound, and all objections were forgotten, everything forgotten, 028, 028, oh-two-eight, oh two eight, oh-

Thirty seconds later Héloïse’s legs had finally stopped spasming and she had recovered the energy necessary to open her eyes. 028 was sat back on her haunches, still-slick fingers tracing the backs of Héloïse’s thighs. Her smile was a devastating thing.

“Hi, Q,” she said.

“You’re still wearing clothes,” Héloïse said, displeased.

028 glanced down. Her sundress, a puffy white thing with sunflowers scattered over it, was rucked up to her waist, the straps falling off her shoulders. Zipper half undone. Incredible that Héloïse could turn round and kiss her. Could undo the zipper, push the dress off her shoulders and tug it down her soft bare legs. Through the window the moonlight checkered on her throat. Smell of the ocean. Downstairs woman singing. 028 looking up at her, mouth open a little, stretched out. _Want you to tie me up_.

Héloïse got an idea.

“What are you doing?” 028 asked, head craning a little to watch Héloïse fumble with her clothes. In response she hummed and yanked out the long silk strap that wrapped around the back of her jacket. Blueprint of the bed. Structurally sound. Should work.

She climbed back on the bed and pushed 028 down with a hand on her chest. “Do you still want,” she asked, and held up the silk.

Finally. 028’s eyes enormous. Flushing a little, pink dusting her cheeks, down her neck. Chest too. Blushing! Finally! Héloïse tallied the score with great satisfaction. Héloïse: 1. 028: 187. Room for improvement but that could wait till later.

After a protracted moment 028 nodded, quick and emphatic. Without further ado Héloïse bent and kissed her, reached under her to sneakily very sneakily undo the clasp of her bra and she arched, let it be pulled down her arms and off. So pretty. So pretty. Héloïse said as much and 028’s eyes closed, head tipping back. Without prompting she held up her wrists.

Simple knot. Across the delicate skin where her veins peeked through blue and lovely, life perched there so precariously. Around one of the old metal columns of the headboard. Her other wrist. Héloïse slid a finger between the silk and her skin- not too tight. Good.

“Okay?”

028 nodded. Eyes still closed. Carefully she stretched, testing her restraints. Like a cat in a cage, tugging the silk as far as it could go. Héloïse had no doubt that should she want to be out of them she would in a heartbeat. But she stayed still.

Naked. Almost. Hands above her head bare insides of biceps muscle flexing down ribcage pink nipples upright soft underswell scars here and there. Bullet scar. Healed almost. Puffy and red harsh indent in the skin. Must have hurt. Héloïse skirted round it, touched the soft skin right above her belly button. Surgical scar, messy and jagged. What does it take to cut yourself open? Ten centimetres almost. Rooting around inside. Bleeding all the time. 028. 028. Alive. Heart still beating when Héloïse put her fingers on it just two inches away. Close thing.

Kissed her. Scar on her throat, thin jagged thing coming down. Would be there for a year more probably. Just a nick she said, smiling exhausted in the medbay bed. Héloïse balanced over her, careful suddenly not to hurt her, kissed just under her jaw. Up to her ear. She tensed, let out a shaky breath. Good or bad? Down again. Throat. Collarbones. Kissing hot open-mouthed. Salt of her skin of the ocean air pouring through. Good. Sucking soft at the curve of her breast. Mouthing at her nipples and _that_ got a reaction, hips jumping, “Q, please, _God_ ,” back up to her shoulder, neck. Touched her warm alive mouth. Felt her teeth close, biting, desperate.

“Q,” she was saying. “Q.” Funny. Not her name. No one knew it really. 028 hardly even a name. But enough. Enough.

“Oh-two-eight,” she responded. Kissed, teasing now, under her ear.

“Q, I don’t-“ she broke off a moment to breathe, harsh and shaky, “You don’t need to do all that.”

Héloïse smiled. Bit gently at her earlobe. “Do what?”

A frustrated groan. 028’s legs clamped vise-like round Héloïse’s waist. Right. Strong. Odd how her wrists stayed still, just flexed a little against the tie. She must like that. Though if she didn’t-

“Do you have a word,” Héloïse asked.

028’s eyes fluttered open, brow furrowing. “A word?”

“You know.” She motioned.

“Oh.” 028 thought about it for a moment. “No. I’ve never done this before.”

What?

Héloïse reeled, taken aback. “You-?”

“Not this.”

Oh. Trust. Not wanting to be caught unawares. Seven years she had been here, she said. After falafel. Warm pitas wrapped in paper. 028 winking. Younger then. Héloïse half in university, half in the lab. 028 without the scars. Never?

“I like it,” she said. Her bottom lip caught between her teeth. Eyes half-lidded on Héloïse. “Like you.”

Héloïse felt herself go pink. “I like you, too.”

028 seemed to be considering something. Her eyes dropped a little, to somewhere round Héloïse’s bare stomach, then came back up. “Love you,” she offered.

“Oh,” said Héloïse, brain staggering a little.

“Probably,” 028 amended. “I think.”

“Probably?”

“Why, are you offended?”

A little. “ _I_ love you,” Héloïse said, then flushed at her own daring.

028 blinked. “You do.”

“Yes.”

“Okay.”

“Are you happy about that?”

“Not _un_ happy.” At Héloïse’s expression 028 laughed, a soft breath from her nose. “Kiss me.”

Héloïse could do nothing but obey. Just kiss her. Mouth bitten delicate sweep of her eyelashes against Héloïse’s cheek. God so pretty. Careful with the scars there. A trapezoid traced on her bare soft inner thigh, up to the lace of her underwear. Fine. Could go around it.

Touched her and she swore, headboard rattling as the silk pulled tight. Hands-to-ankles breaking the bedframe. Other women. Wet. Héloïse bent down over her, watched her looking at Héloïse’s wrist, her hand working between her legs. She was so warm, writhing a little, body tensing and relaxing. Héloïse found the slow careful circles she seemed to like and dipped down to bite crescents into the side of her neck. Almost anguished, the sound she made. High. Pretty. “Q,” she said. “Q.”

Héloïse. Once told she would know forever. Just the slip of a tongue. No firm rule against it of course. Under your discretion as long as cover wasn’t blown. Héloïse. Héloïse. Would she tell hers? What was there in a name but the weight of knowing it? 028 oh-two-eight. Darling. Love. Light of my life. Just one more thing to hold for each other. Security risk Headquarters called it. Héloïse looked down at 028 gorgeous shuddering pliant coming steadily undone beneath her. She would still call her “Q”, probably. Liked that.

“Q,” she said, again, wretched.

Héloïse’s mouth found the inside of her elbow, the soft blue-streak of the veins there. Down to her shoulder, up to her ear. “Héloïse,” she whispered.

“Héloïse,” 028 repeated, in the faint distant tone of someone just beyond thought. Then her eyes popped wide open and she looked up at Héloïse, searching. “Héloïse?”

She didn’t move, heart caught in her throat.

“You better not be saying another woman’s name with your fingers in me,” 028 warned, between soft shuddering breaths. Smiling though. She knows. She knows. Relief immense relief.

“I wouldn’t,” Héloïse promised, and kissed her collarbone, making her way down. Heart leaping inside her chest at the sound of it.

“Nonono,” 028 said, yanking at her restraints. “No. Come back here I wasn’t done.”

Héloïse came back willingly. Waited. Fingers still stroking, quick circles now. 028’s chest jumping and falling, eyes fixed on Héloïse’s. “Marianne,” she said, tone heavy and deliberate.

Marianne. Marianne Marianne Marianne Marianne. Over and over. 028 made a complaining noise and Héloïse realised her fingers had stilled.

“Marianne,” she said.

“Héloïse,” 028 responded, her eyes limpid and full. Marianne. It would take some getting used to. But it suited her.

“Marianne,” she said again, found the rhythm she liked. Braced herself against the bed and kissed her. “Marianne.” Faster, faster, the silk straining, almost ripping, lines of muscles so defined, legs flexing wet soft velvet between tensing fluttering down and she let out a sharp high gasp, said, “Q, oh God, Héloïse,” and on the last syllable her voice broke, and she was there. Mouth opening. Smell of lavender soap. Ocean shh-hushing in the distance. Strong pale column of her throat with her head tipped back. Oh-two-eight.

Afterward she demanded, smiling, to be freed (lazy; they both knew perfectly well that she could get herself out). With tender hands Héloïse undid the knot, leaving the silk still tied round one of her wrists, and kissed her. Gun tucked between the headboard and the mattress and the funny thing was Héloïse had expected it. Known it to be there. Seen their clocks ticking down together in it. Time was a finite thing but elastic still, and tomorrow dawned. Breakfast maybe. Coffee on the beach hair tangled with salt-of-the-sea and sand. Fingers dry. Touching her again. 028. Marianne.

Good to be alive.


End file.
